


What Remains

by ladycyon



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Post-Tresspasser, Tresspasser, blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 23:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16439150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladycyon/pseuds/ladycyon
Summary: Between the journey through the crossroads, the dissolution of the Inquisition, and the unpleasant announcement of the end of the world - the inquisitor really isn't having a great day.So what's left? After everything falls to pieces, some things still hold up.





	What Remains

The exalted council was over. The unhappy figureheads scowling away from their lofty heights might not have thought so but - at least, for Charlie - it was done. _They_ were done; the inquisition, everything.

Soon, probably even the world.

The slow dawning horror of Solas’ plans washed over Charlie as she was momentarily rooted to the spot, drowning out the uproar of the surrounding crowd. It lasted only a second. She didn’t intend to stand by and let that happen. She turned, stuffing the oversized book into Josephine’s hands, hardly noting her fumbling to keep it from falling to the floor. Charlie stalked away, down the red carpet and out the door.

The quiet of the hall was a relief and she hastened to leave behind the chaos and politics. It wasn’t her problem anymore right? Ferelden didn’t want her meddling and Orlais wanted her at their beck and call. No choice seemed like the right choice anymore - especially not when she had to rely on only herself to make it. Perhaps it was best to leave things up to people who were more certain of what should be.

Besides, she wouldn’t need a title to track Solas down. The inquisition as it was - _had been_ \- could only hinder her in this. It would bog her down with politics and responsibilities and far, far too many eyes watching her every move. It seemed that feeling was impossible to escape within the confines of the winter palace.

She continued down the hallway without the faintest sense of where she was going, aware of the strange looks she was garnering but unable to care beyond the simple wish to get _away_ from them. She tried to move faster, but her body felt sluggish and she had lost track of her direction. The palace was enormous and it all looked the same to her. Every palace and mansion bore the same bourgeois veneer of meticulous arrangement, of lacking warmth or personal touch. Charlie had been in enough of them to know.

They weren’t homes, they were museums. Trophy rooms.

Charlie didn’t know how long she wandered. A fog descended over her mind just like it had taken over her limbs. She was moving underwater. The lights were too bright. Or were they too dim? The realization of everything that had happened in the last few hours was taking hold. It made her dizzy and she lurched through the unfamiliar halls, ears buzzing, casting about for a familiar landmark; anything to quell the rising panic.

She was quite lost. In more ways than one.

\--

Somewhere between an enormous potted tree bearing pink, star-shaped flowers and a nude statue so garrish it could _only_ be Orlesian, Charlie found herself sitting splay-legged and slumped on the marble floor. Her head tilted back against the wall. Her gaze roamed her surroundings without really taking it in. When had she gotten _here?_ And where was here, exactly?

She struggled to concentrate. Something had happened. It was important. But her mind had already began to drift again, thoughts breaking up like wisps of cloud before they could settle on a shape. There was something she was supposed to remember to do. Who had told her?

Her head rolled to the side. Her eyes refused to focus. That was frustrating. Why was there a tree there?

Charlie's brow furrowed and she squinted. Her other senses struggled to filter through the fog. The floor was cold. She was shivering, she realized distantly. They didn’t have any trees like that in Skyhold.

 _Would they make her leave Skyhold_? Not just her. All of them. Cole. Sera. Dagna. The ones with nowhere else to go. Could they? Make her?

Something twitched at the back of her mind as she envisioned raising her sword against any and all who would think to force her from her home. Her stomach lurched. She felt sick.The tree was getting blurrier. Her face felt hot. Think. What did she need to remember?

“ _Inquisitor_!”

No. That wasn’t her title anymore. She was no more the inquisitor now than she had ever been the Herald of Andraste. She had no such illusions anymore. She squeezed her eyes shut, fought against the burn creeping up her throat. Charlie kept them closed, even when she felt hands gripping her jacket. Someone - whoever it was - was talking, but it sounded muffled.

They shook her; gently, but it hurt all the same. Charlie tried to curl away from the jolt of agony and the horrible rocking that wasn’t making it any easier to keep her stomach in place, She was so tired all of a sudden. Why couldn’t they leave her alone? Didn’t they know she was _done?_ Weakly, she lifted her hands to bat whoever it was away, but it was all wrong.

  
With a jolt, she remembered. The thing she’d forgotten -- she needed to see it for herself. Her eyes clawed their way open only to cast down at the empty space at her side.

“Oh so that’s it.” She mumbled faintly, expecting to feel something more. “Ugly,” she said. She looked up, caught the wild eyes of the person still clinging to her jacket - maybe even the only thing keeping her upright now - though it took her several long seconds to resolve them as belonging to Josephine.

“Josie,” Charlie’s mouth twitched up at the corner, just a fraction. Her remaining hand shook as she clumsily pawed for the ambassador’s face. Why was she frowning like that? She tried to follow Josie’s gaze but she didn’t want to go back there. To the spot on the sleeve where her uniform was slowly darkening, now oversaturated and dripping, leaving stark crimson smears across the pearlescent white of the marble.

Charlie looked away, a gurgle of laughter sticking in her throat, something bordering on muted hysteria.

“It was a good choice,” she huffed, feeling even more tired and far away than she had before.

“What?” Josie asked, shaking her again. “Inquisitor-- _Charlie_ please stay awake. What was a good choice?” Josie’s voice sounded strained. Well that couldn’t be good.

“Red” Charlie slurred, her hand plucking at the front of her formal jacket even as her eyes dropped closed again.“Enemies can’t see the blood.”

Neither could friends.

She couldn’t stay awake any longer.

\--

The next time she became aware of something, it was the fact that she was on _fire,_ she had to be. The sickly green energy of the anchor was a torch being held to her skin, lightning arcing through her, destroying her from the inside out. From fingertips to jaw, she could feel it pulsing white hot and it felt like it should be killing her. She cried out, thrashing against the hands that held her. _Who?_ Her nerves seared and it was unbearable. It didn’t make sense. There was nothing left, but she could still feel it eating her alive. She needed to get away.

“Fasta vass,” a familiar voice exclaimed, though Charlie couldn’t understand the words. She squirmed and the hands tightened their grip to keep her still. Yet, it was unnecessary. The effort was barely there, pain sapping Charlie of her usual strength, forcing its way out of her as ugly, animal sounds she couldn’t hold back. Darkness crept in the edges of her vision.

Distantly, she heard the voice speak again. “Vivien, can you--?”

“Stand back,” said another familiar voice. And something shifted around her, something that crawled inside her and took hold of the pain and _shook_ it and for an instant it flared bright, bright, bright, unravelling her.

She fell back down into black and black and black and heard no more.

\--

When she woke again everything felt soft. For a long time she floated somewhere between sleep and consciousness. Sensations crept in and she tried to catalogue the now-quiet complaints of her body. She smelled elfroot. The sheets felt stiff against her skin.

Sheets? Yes, she was definitely in a bed. She thought to move her hand to check and became aware of another hand covering hers.

She opened her eyes and saw that Cullen was there, slouched in a chair beside the bed. His eyes were closed in sleep, but even that had not erased the hard lines of a scowl on his face, the dark shadows under closed lids. His feet were propped up on the end of the bed and he had crowded his chair flush with the bed so he could reach her even as he slept.

It reminded her of Adamant all over again. How he had needed to be close to her at all times, always touching her. Charlie studied him, trying not to move around too much as she searched for any trace of the haunted look that had dogged him for weeks after that nasty business. She didn't want to wake him when he so clearly needed the rest but neither did she want to be alone with her thoughts, which were suddenly altogether too loud, too sharp.

Still, she knew he needed the sleep. He always did. Surely she could wait it out. Charlie frowned, pushing back against the spike of unease in her gut, the swirl of unbidden thoughts. She tried to distract herself. She wondered what time it was, how long must Cullen have sat there waiting for her to wake up before allowing himself to drift off like that, how much it meant to her that he was here, now.

She held onto that. She _hadn't_ lost everything. The proof of that was sitting right in front of her. Snoring slightly, even.

She choked on a noise somewhere half between a laugh and a sob. Her voice stuttered on the sound as her chest hitched and Charlie would never know if it was the volume or the movement that had awakened him.

“Charlie?” She felt his hand curl around her own as he blinked sleepily at her. He sat up with a groan. “Thank the Maker!”

Something raw and scared and vulnerable flashed across his face - there and then gone - chased away by his blinding smile. It was infectious. Charlie found herself smiling back at him. How could she not? The last time she’d seen him, she believed it to be the last time she would _ever_ see him. For both of them to be sitting here now was just short of miraculous.

Charlie didn’t believe in miracles anymore. But she did believe in-- “Cullen” she managed to squeak out, wincing at the way her voice warbled.

His smile faded. “I thought- I mean...I didn’t think you would--” The scowl was back. He couldn’t finish the thought and Charlie didn’t want him to.

“I know,” she said, her hand tightening as she tugged him closer. “Me too.” She scooted to the side to make space for him as Cullen moved automatically to occupy it, taking care not to jostle her. “But I’m still here, “ Charlie insisted.

He kissed her then, as if he needed the physical proof, as if touching and holding her wasn’t enough. Maybe Charlie needed that proof too. She leaned into it. It wasn’t much. She didn’t have energy for anything other than a brief meeting of lips but she basked in even that. For once, she was finally, _finally,_ allowed to simply enjoy this. Her and Cullen alone together, the comfort of his arms encircling her - sharing a bed with her _husband._

A realization hit Charlie like a stampeding druffalo. In an instant, she found herself knocked breathless at the errant thought she had stumbled upon. She struggled to keep it off her face and she rolled to her other side, away from Cullen before he could see. Her shoulders started to shake. Her eyes burned. The panic closed in around her once again.

Cullen made a concerned noise behind her and somehow that only made it all so much worse. The tears were coming fast and hard now, a tide of grief washing over her for another line on the list of things she’d lost.

“Charlie?” Cullen sounded positively alarmed now and she could feel his hands on her as she wept bitterly. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” he asked.

Charlie shook her head but could not turn to face him. How could she when…

Despair. Utter despair was what took her then. And for such a small thing she cried now.

Ah, but small things could be _important._ A crack in the dam that lets the flood rush through. A pebble that tips the scales. One last insult to injury.

Behind her, Charlie heard Cullen sigh. “Oh my dear, sweet, wife,” he said, sounding sadder than Charlie had ever heard him. He moved to spoon up against her back, his left hand drifting across her chest to pull her back against his warm, solid presence, bracing her there. His other hand stroked her hair. “Please tell your husband why you’re crying before he worries himself sick.”

She felt him press his face into the back of her neck. Her hand groped for his, found his fingers, brushed up against the handsome everite ring she, herself, had placed there only a few days ago. She felt something crack inside her.

“Cullen, I’m s-sorry, I lost it.” She hurried to speak while she fought to suppress the sobs still shuddering up out of her chest.

“You’re sorry?” he echoed, sounding more confused than ever. Charlie found she couldn’t answer right away and after a few seconds he seemed to pick up on what else she’d said. “Lost what?”

“My ring,” Charlie said in a quiet voice, the tears finding her again. She squeezed her eyes shut against them. “I just realized I lost my ring.”

It had been so beautiful. Composed of veridium and accented with stormheart, the intricately crafted metal inlaid with small white sapphires was truly a work of a master craftsman. It had been apparent that Cullen had gone through a lot of trouble to make sure it was just so. She hoped he wouldn’t be too disappointed.

She remembered the scent of jasmine in the garden where they’d held their private ceremony, the way she’d smiled at him and couldn’t remember ever feeling happier as he’d reverently slid the ring onto her finger. How honored she felt to wear it. How little time she’d been afforded to enjoy that feeling.

And now it was gone, along with the rest of her hand. Silly, that she should be hung up on the ring.

Cullen seemed to think so too. He barked a short laugh, both arms circling closer around her and drawing her even nearer to him. “Your ring? Is that all?” he asked, breathing out all at once in a way that sounded suspiciously like relief. “Think nothing of it. I’ll have another made.”  
  
Charlie stiffened, opening her mouth to protest, but he continued before she could make a sound.

“It’s no trouble. The man who made the first owes me a favor. Several, in fact.” He snorted softly in amusement. There was a story there for another time, but just then Charlie’s eyes were burning again. Albeit, for different reasons.

She squirmed in Cullen's grip, a knot in her chest loosening as he helped her roll to face him once again. “It’s too much,” she said, not really talking about the ring anymore.

Cullen didn’t follow. “It really isn’t.” he said, gazing down at her. “It’s the least I can do after--”

“Not _that,”_ Charlie huffed, a little exasperated every time she was forced to try to put something intangibly huge into tiny little words.

“Oh.” Cullen said softly. His brow furrowed. “Of course, you mean… yes. Well...”

But Cullen fell silent, the thought unfinished. He didn’t need to say it. He’d read the reports Dorian and Sera had handed over, likely feeling sick as he scanned their recounts of their journey through the eluvians. The way the anchor had begun to suck the life from her, sending her crashing to her knees in between bouts with the qunari. Bull’s betrayal. Solas. Fen’harel. Whoever he was. The anchor _exploding_ out of her body, leaving flesh like ribbons behind. Dorian and Sera dragging her back across the crossroads between them. Dorian swearing in Tevene as he struggled to put his rudimentary healing skills to practical use, managing at least to stop the bleeding. (Certainly he did not need to specify _which_ swears as part of his missive, strictly speaking, but Dorian made the impeccable detail of his reports a point of pride).

Cullen could replace a ring, sure, but other things could never be replaced. Something he seemed to realize too if the tender way he kissed her then was anything to go by. As if he aimed to spend the rest of his life trying if he had to. His hands tightened infinitesimally around her and Charlie buried herself in his embrace, taking comfort in the one thing she hadn’t lost.

“Cullen?”

“Hm?”

The one thing she couldn’t bear to live without.

“Thank you.” she said. She pressed her hand flat to his chest, felt the steady rhythm of his heart, felt the voice rumble out of him when he replied.

“Of course, my love.”

Perhaps it wasn’t quite so much after all.

**Author's Note:**

> So what up. this is a bit from a much larger universe in my head featuring my inquisitor Charlotte Rhiannon Trevelyan, aka Charlie. She's a two-handed warrior class and my absolute darling. There will likely be more in this universe and I am easily encouraged if you feed me.


End file.
